Spaces Between
by perpetually-prototyping
Summary: Sorey had been back for over a year now, but in some ways he still felt distant, too far beyond her reach to help or ability to understand. [Alisha/Sorey]


Alisha stirred and awoke to a pleasant warmth, but found she couldn't move.

Half-awake, she pushed mildly at what she figured were her blankets wound tight around her, but her arms wouldn't stretch very far. She forced her eyes open against the morning light, blinding despite how little of it made it through her thick curtains, and idly shifted her legs as she waited for her vision to adjust. They didn't have much room to move, either.

Something hot touched her neck. She heard a sound like muffled breathing.

She put a little more effort into blinking herself awake, more confused than alarmed as the memory of the night before came drifting back. Her bedroom greeted her as it always did, clean and tidy. The sheer canopy around her large bed was parted on the left; she'd neglected to draw it closed before drifting off. Her bed was still made, disturbed only where she had fallen asleep on top of the blankets.

She hadn't changed for bed, either. She was down to her black undershirt and shorts, her hair still in a (now messy) ponytail. It was clear she had gone to bed rather suddenly, perhaps unintentionally, but it wouldn't have been the first time. Everything else was rather normal－barring the second figure that occupied the bed, his arms tight around her and his face hidden against her shoulder.

Sorey was still, his breathing too heavy for him to be awake but too light compared to how he usually sounded. His legs had tangled with hers sometime during the night and he was pressed flush against her.

It wasn't uncomfortable or unwanted, but Alisha frowned all the same. It wasn't like him to hold her－he was usually the one being held－and certainly not this tightly.

She gently wriggled one arm free, and then slid her hand around to run it over his back. The muscles there felt tense.

Withholding her sad sigh, she kissed the top of his head and lightly rubbed his shoulders.

When he stirred sometime later, it was sudden: she felt him twitch, his breath catch, and then he drew back without warning, staring into her face with unseeing eyes as he struggled to wake.

She gave him the most disarming smile she could manage as she cupped his face in one hand. "Sorey," she greeted warmly, although her concern showed through. "Are you alright?"

If his abrupt awakening was startling, then the speed at which he went from that blank look to an unsteady smile was twice so. "Yeah," he said quickly, thickly, with a sound that was half-cough and half-awkward laugh. "Yeah. Sorry. Kinda forgot where I was for a second." He glanced down the bed, across the room, as though he still wasn't sure. He ran a hand over his face and Alisha noticed that his eyes were bloodshot.

"Did you sleep much?" she wondered.

"Yeah," he repeated. "I'm fine. Sorry for crashing on you like that."

It was the third time he'd apologized for it since last night, but she wasn't sure he remembered the other two. She shook her head lightly. "It's alright," she assured him, meaning it. Sorey smiled again but there was something missing in it, something distant and distracted and not quite all there. She swept her thumb gingerly over his cheek. "Why don't you stay?" she murmured. "It's still early."

He appeared to think about it, and then after a moment decided it was best. He lay down again, facing her, but with a couple inches to spare between them this time. Not crowding her, but not avoiding her, either.

Alisha moved closer to resume their earlier position, but his return grip wasn't nearly as tight as before. She set her cheek on his hair, stroking his back and waiting.

His breaths were slow and quiet. There were no jokes, no change of subject, no attempts at lightening the atmosphere. She'd seen him in low spirits before, but nothing so obvious and prolonged as this.

When the silence went on too long, she prompted softly, "What's wrong, Sorey?"

She felt him breathe in deep and hold it.

"I'm still adjusting. That's all."

"Is it worse?"

He hesitated for a few beats. His fingers played absently along the hem of her shirt. "Just… more intense." He gave a small laugh, but it was dry. "I make it sound worse than it is. I'm just tired. A lot. It's a weird feeling."

No, Alisha thought—if anything, he was probably downplaying the situation.

She withdrew to push herself up with one hand, looking down at him and studying the dark shadows under his bright eyes, the exhausted slouch in his shoulders. She touched his cheek again.

"You can be honest," she told him. "You don't have to go into detail if you think it will make it worse, but… with everything that you're taking in, maybe you should let some of it out."

He had three years' worth, after all.

Three years of unbroken sleep beneath the earth, unaware that when he eventually awoke, when the purified Maotelus left his body, something else would be left behind.

Sorey's gaze drifted away from hers, staring down at his pillow. "Maybe," he mused after a pause. He set his hand atop hers and held it. Then, "It's started happening when I'm awake, too."

Alisha stiffened. "How...?"

"I… see things sometimes." He frowned as though that wasn't the phrase he was looking for. He rolled onto his back, appearing more awake than before. "Or… it's more like I have thoughts that aren't mine. I can remember things—pictures that go with the thoughts, but… I usually don't remember them after that."

He stared up at her bed's canopy. She stared at him.

"Does it happen often?"

He fidgeted slightly. "A couple times a day. They're not all bad," he added. "A lot of them seem happy, from what I can tell. But… there's… a lot of them."

Alisha pressed her lips together to hold back a frown. Of course there would be a lot. The Five Lords were probably nothing _but_ memory and power, as ancient and mighty as they were.

Serving as a vessel to a normal seraph—several of them, in Sorey's case—was probably a far cry from doing the same for Maotelus. Was it all that strange, really, that this had happened? Had some kind of side effect been inevitable, all things considered?

Perhaps he was fortunate; perhaps he could have been subjected to something worse than broken pieces of memory flooding his mind—now consciously, it would seem, in addition to his dreams.

Noticing her expression, Sorey quickly broke into another smile as he sat up. "It's fine," he said cheerfully. "I mean, I'm losing some sleep over it, but… it's not like I don't do that on purpose all the time. I'll get through it eventually." He reached up to ease her loose ribbon from her hair. "In the meantime, thanks for letting me stay. I sleep better with you around."

She colored slightly, her gaze and her tone dropping shyly. She liked his fingers in her hair. He was always gentle. "You're always welcome to stay when you're in town."

Either he missed the reason for her embarrassment, or it just didn't affect him in the same way. He began brushing her hair out and this time the silence was a calmer, casual one, his usual tender attentiveness back in place. Alisha smiled and ran her hand along the warm skin of his arm.

He, too, was underdressed in his black shirt and undershorts. It wasn't unusual－they had fumbled around in their affections more than a few times, with curious touches and simple kisses that were a little bolder at some times more than others. It never went farther than that－Alisha entertained thoughts of it now and again, but Sorey never hinted at wanting anything more－but this time, last night, had been simpler than that. He had shown up soaked to the bone from the rain, and she helped him peel out of it all and warm up by leading him to bed and wrapping herself around him.

Normally when he felt overwhelmed by memories, he just stopped by for a talk or tea, often with Mikleo in tow. This time he came alone, and it had taken him much longer to laugh off the situation.

Sorey read her expression. "Sorry. I didn't mean to worry you," he said quietly.

"It's alright. I want… You should be comfortable talking to me freely, Sorey, never mind if I'll worry or not."

His hand fell away and he mirrored her stance, propping his weight on one arm. "I promise this wasn't the only reason I came here," he added with a crooked grin. Alisha wouldn't have minded if it was. "But it's probably too early to talk politics."

She couldn't help but smile at the return of his easygoing tone. He was quick to bounce back from just about anything. As concerned as she still was, she would do him no favors by dragging the mood back down again.

She leaned in close, nuzzling his cheek. "If you think it can wait…"

His fingers threaded between hers. "It can," he promised warmly. He leaned in and kissed her－and then surprised her with a second one that was deeper than she would have expected.

Sorey never initiated—not like this, anyway. Touches, yes, and lighter, playful kisses, but normally he waited for her to take the step towards something more intimate than that.

Perhaps he was feeling particularly grateful－or perhaps he needed the distraction.

She obliged.

Taking his face in her hands, she returned his kiss for a long, sweet moment before pausing. "You should still rest," she told him. Her next kiss was a smile pressed briefly to his lips. "Let's lie down for now."

He did so—but her plan to lie beside him again was interrupted by the arm he snuck around her waist. He pulled her down with him, on top of him, smiling against her in return at her small, surprised sound. "Sorey—!" His grip immediately loosened, but of course she didn't retreat. She let him have her weight, her expression fond as she smoothed his hair back from his face.

They traded brief kisses and brushing touches, although Sorey had fallen back to his usual mild degree. It was still more than enough to make Alisha's skin buzz and her heart race, especially when he occasionally dipped down to let his mouth wander the sensitive side of her neck.

Her hands slipped under his shirt. Not suggestively, but rubbing his sides in a gentle massage－even if her fingertips did gravitate to the scars she was beginning to memorize. Her touch traced and circled and stroked, moving between each one and repeating while she kissed her way across his bottom lip.

But he did need what rest he could get, and she knew how to help him relax. With a last, lingering kiss she withdrew to sit on his thighs. "I'll rub your back," she offered, with a smile that assured him it wasn't an inconvenience. She hesitated as she noticed that inch of bare skin between his wrinkled shirt and his waistband.

She dragged her fingers across it as if in thought. Both hands disappeared under his shirt again, but her thumbs hooked on the edge to drag it slowly up over his chest. She felt his gaze and met it, but there was no objection in his eyes and he didn't speak. Sorey only looked curious.

When she reached his shoulders, he lifted his arms without prompting. She pulled the shirt gently over his head, patiently along his arms. He followed her lead and there was a moment when her breath caught as she looked down at him, his arms fixed over his head and his wrists in her hands. Something like a shiver coiled around the length of her spine, a ripple of unreleased tension that quickened her pulse and weakened her fingers.

After only a second's pause she resumed her task, tugging the shirt free and pretending she wasn't rippling with a desire she couldn't put into words.

He was more toned than his loose clothes had hinted. Alisha felt her face grow warm as she took in the lines and curves of muscle in his chest, his sides, his shoulders—firmly defined, but soft rather than sharp. She ached to see them working, to feel them clench beneath her hands and flush against her own bare skin.

Her eyes were drawn just as quickly to the blemishes on his smooth skin, a number of nicks and stripes and faded welts. She counted six that she could see, the smallest half as long as her little finger and the largest too long to hide beneath her hand. The latter looked ragged, violent, narrowly avoiding his collarbone as it stretched from the top of his chest to the curve of his shoulder.

The heat inside her cooled. Not out of disgust—his scars were strangely beautiful, in a way—but a sudden, solemn thought:

The Shepherd was a symbol of peace. He shouldn't have had more scars than she did.

Inside as well as out, now.

Despite her previous offer, Alisha didn't rise to let him roll over. Instead, she touched each scar—first with cautious fingertips, and then straddling him on hands and knees to lean down and give light, slow kisses in the same pattern. She felt him tense beneath the first one, heard his sharp, low inhale, but he didn't refuse her and she continued, working her way up to his shoulder last.

There her trail of patient kisses shifted—up his neck to his mouth, where he returned her affection in similar slow motions.

"Let me see the rest," she whispered against him. Sorey was slow to break away, and then turned over onto his stomach. She settled back on his hips, doing the same thing to the five scars she found there. After all were touched and kissed, her hands worked over his back in a tender massage, as promised. She smiled as she heard him stifle a pleased groan.

Alisha continued in silence until his shoulders went slack and his breathing grew heavy. Flexing her tired fingers, she lay gingerly on top of him with her cheek resting between his shoulder blades, her thumbs idly stroking his biceps.

Sorey had been back for over a year now, but in some ways he still felt distant, too far beyond her reach to help or ability to understand. He'd always had that kind of air about him, as though he existed in a different world from her own—and he had, really—and naturally saw things in ways that she had yet to learn. But he had been confident then, comfortable and sure of himself and optimistic towards the path unwinding before him.

Now his path had been trodden, his choices made, and at the end he was left with a weight that no one could have ever been prepared for. His words and his smile said he was fine, but the exhaustion in his face and his thrashing in the middle of the night said otherwise.

It was a whole new kind of helplessness that Alisha felt.

She would have once hoped that Mikleo could be there for him in whatever ways she couldn't, but she hadn't missed the uncertainty in the seraph's gaze the last couple times they met. Either this was an issue he couldn't mask his emotions around quite as well, or she was getting better at reading him. He felt just as frustrated as she did.

She closed her eyes with a soundless sigh—listening to Sorey's deep breaths and steady heartbeat, praying that this sleep was a peaceful one, and simply waiting, hoping, as she seemed forever fated to do.


End file.
